


Honor and Duty

by Dragonsigma



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Canon Retelling, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:33:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6279151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonsigma/pseuds/Dragonsigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There must be some reasoning behind it, some reason why he must work with this untidy, ridiculous man who speaks out of turn and moves with a careless stride despite the power he wields.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In the wake of the deaths of Varenechibel IV and three of his sons, the Court at Cetho is thrown into an astonishing mess. The Lord Chancellor’s office is buried beneath a whirlwind of papers, couriers and pages hurry every which way, and gossip runs unbridled though every corridor and every street. The Guard alone is still in order as ever it is, and Lieutenant Deret Beshelar is pleased with the constancy of his comrades in the face of political chaos.

Constant they may be, though not always educated-- several, caring little for the politics of succession, falsely believe they will serve Prince Idra until they are reminded that the crown falls not to him but to the Archduke Maia. Beyond that, the succession is not yet any of Beshelar’s concern. And then it is.

He is overseeing a training exercise when Captain Orthema’s orders finally arrive. He is to serve as nohecharis to the as-of-yet uncrowned and unnamed Emperor. The appointment is not entirely unexpected. He had known himself to be a potential candidate, but he had not anticipated there to be the need for several years yet.

He wastes no time in contemplating the great honor that has been bestowed upon him. He is from a military family, he knows his duty and his place: to serve the Empire and the Imperial household, unto death if need be.

~//~

The Emperor is not what he expected, and the Emperor is more than he expected.

He has never approved of gossip, finding it inappropriate and wasteful, and though this attitude has at times earned him teasing from his fellow guards, he has never strayed from it. But that does not mean he has not heard what is said about the unfavored half-goblin son of the Drazhada.

Whispers at Court inevitably trickle out to the Guard. It is no secret that men enjoying their drinks like to talk, both of things they know and things they do not. If confronted, they will say it is a tactical advantage for guardsmen to stay abreast of court rumor, but that does not explain the pleasure they take in trading such sordid tales.

And so he knows what they say of the Archduke, the Emperor’s youngest son relegated years ago along with his foreigner mother. Half-mad, they claim, ignorant and provincial and ugly, tainted by goblin blood.

Believing fiercely that the Imperial family is not to be mocked, he has paid these stories no heed, instead dismissing them as merely the creation of bored courtiers’ imaginations.

Yet when he enters the room to the sight of his Emperor choking hysterically at nothing, for a moment he is tempted to believe the rumors he has shunned. But to do so would be inappropriate. It is not his place to judge, though he hopes fiercely that this young man is more than he seems at the present moment.

He looks around; his partner has not yet arrived. Shameful. The Emperor should have been guarded from the moment he arrived in Cetho. To make a poor showing now only compounds the grievous error.

At last the Emperor acknowledges him, and he kneels and offers his oath, and _then_ his partner arrives, making no apologies for his tardiness.

Beshelar disapproves of Cala Athmaza from the first sight of him. He carries himself in a casual manner with little of the dignity befitting his new position. His hair and robes are in a disgraceful state that would earn a reprimand, if not worse, from any Guard commander worth his post. Evidently the mazei do not hold to such standards.

Does he know how to stand silent guard without tiring or becoming distracted? Does he know how to watch a room for dangers? Can he hold his own in a fight? Beshelar doubts it.

Yet Cala moves and speaks as if everything is perfectly well, as if he does not dishonor his position with his disregard for propriety. He is inadequate, and worse still, he is ignorant of his inadequacy, unashamed of his appearance.  

Were there no other dachenmazei available? This man looks like he belongs in a library, not at the Emperor’s back. But Beshelar does not have time to dwell on this unfortunate assignment, for there is work to be done.

~//~

One of the first things Edrehasivar does is ask to attend the funeral for the crew of the _Wisdom of Choharo._ Beshelar and Mer Aisava both recommend against it; it is _unsuitable_ , and more than that it is _unsafe_. Cala is of no help, and Beshelar suspects he would support the endeavour if pressed. It is unwise, but the Emperor insists, and so they summon a carriage to take them across the city to the Ulimere.

The building is old and crowded and presents a thousand separate security risks, and Beshelar is glad when they are at last able to leave.

On the journey back, Cala, to Beshelar’s great chagrin, attempts to ask the Emperor about his family. It is not Cala’s place to talk. It will never be Cala’s place to talk. They are to be silent guardians, nothing else. Not advisors, and certainly not friends. They have no right to speak with such ease to the man to whom they have pledged their lives. Theirs is a sacred position, but it does not change the fact that they have no born right to associate freely with the imperial family. Cala does not seem to realize this, even when the Emperor rebuffs his questions.

They return to the Alcethmeret, where the work of governing the Empire begins. Though Mer Aisava guides the Emperor through the rest of the day’s concerns with a deft hand, there is a great deal to be done, and by the end of the evening His Serenity is clearly exhausted. And yet still he worries for those far beneath himself.

“When will you eat?” he asks, and Beshelar is uncertain as to how to reply to this unexpected question, as he has been uncertain all day of how to respond to his Emperor’s unorthodoxies. As nohecharei they are supposed to be more symbols than men, constant and unnoticed but as a force to protect their ruler. It is not the Emperor’s duty to care for their needs or their comfort. He should not concern himself with such things when he has the entire nation on his shoulders.

Cala spares him the need to speak, and if he answers in language rather too flowery for Beshelar’s taste, it seems to calm the Emperor regardless, though he persists in making inappropriate self-deprecating remarks. At last he is convinced to sleep, and when he requests that Cala remain, Beshelar returns to his post to guard against those fools who would dare harm him, and at last ponders the events of the day.

Edrehasivar is unusual, to be sure, but Beshelar will serve without question, as is his sacred oath and duty.

As for his partner… Cala Athmaza is not who he would have chosen to be paired with if given the choice. But it is not his place to question the Adremaza's decision. There must be some reasoning behind it, some reason why he must work with this untidy, _ridiculous_ man who speaks out of turn and moves with a careless stride despite the power he wields.

Though he cannot see it, there must be a reason.

~//~

Midway through the night, they switch places, Beshelar to guard the Emperor’s bedside and Cala to watch the corridors.

“All is well?” he asks, as is expected when one takes a post from a comrade.

Cala nods, an ambiguous and unsuitable gesture. Thankfully, he speaks before Beshelar has to ask again. “He is well, though his sleep may not be entirely restful.”

Beshelar will not abide this vagueness.

“Speak plainly, maza,” he demands.

Cala looks at him with a sudden sharpness, a brief expression that vanishes as sorrow touches his features. “Nightmares. I’m not surprised, after what has happened. He woke once. It will not be the only time, I fear.”

He speaks in the informal. Unacceptable.

“Mind your words. You are overfamiliar.” If Cala will not _look_ like a proper nohecharis, he will at least _sound_ like one. The comment earns him another strange glance, and he responds by taking his place without another word.

He surveys the room; all is in its place.

Nightmares, Cala had said. Beshelar, watching the curtained bed for signs of trouble, hopes powerfully that it does not happen again, not only because it would cause distress to His Serenity but because, if Beshelar is to be truthful, he is not altogether certain he knows how to handle such an occurrence.

If a fellow soldier were to suffer from unrestful dreams, Beshelar would turn away and pretend he did not notice, for the sake of masculine pride. Or, if the the man were disturbing others, gruffly wake him and then never speak of the incident again.

Somehow he knows that would not be the answer here.

~//~

Thankfully, the rest of that first night passes without incident. The following morning is filled with the correspondence and audiences that take the majority of any Emperor’s time, though today they are all the more urgent due to the present circumstances.

Beshelar can tell Cala is tiring, and while that in itself is hardly unexpected, the fact that it is visible presents an obvious weakness for any attacker to exploit. He will give a correction later; it would be wholly inappropriate now.

At last, their seconds arrive. Lieutenant Telimezh and Dazhis Athmaza make their laconic introductions, and Beshelar suppresses a shock of unseemly jealousy that his counterpart should be paired with someone evidently far more suited for the position. Dazhis is prompt, composed. His clothing is neat and tidy, as is his hair. His speech is formal and proper.

Cala would do well to emulate him.


	2. Chapter 2

They discuss schedules briefly with the second shift, and then Cala and Beshelar depart, to wash, and sleep, and organize their new quarters.

Cala offers no amiable overtures as they walk, for which Beshelar is glad, for as tired as he is he has little patience to deal with such things at the moment.

Though the many wings of the Alcethmeret are by no means crowded, it is traditional that a nohecharei pair share lodgings, to encourage cooperation. They will have to know each other well if they are to guard and fight efficiently. Beshelar rather thinks the arrangement is simply to make it easier to summon them both in times of crisis. He hopes that will never be necessary.

The suite has been emptied of all traces of its former occupants. Though the space would appear bare and plain to any nobleman, the carpets and furniture are far richer than Beshelar is accustomed to.

The trunk containing his few possessions has already been delivered. Cala has a similar chest, though rather more worn, from which he withdraws a writing set and several books and arranges them on his desk. Even between them, a maza under an oath of poverty and a soldier disliking frivolity do not own much, and it does not take them long to settle themselves.

There will likely be a chambermaid assigned to clean this room, which Beshelar finds a strange idea after years in the Guard, where one must mind one’s own bunk or quarters. It is with mixed amusement and pride that he thinks of the servants coming in and finding nothing needing cleaning. Though if Cala is as untidy with his living space as he is with his clothing, there may be work for the maids after all.

Beshelar glances at his partner. Cala’s belongings seem to mainly consist of, besides underclothes and two sets of unacceptably worn blue robes, a great number of notebooks. A reminder that Cala is first and foremost a student of magic, not a fighter or a guard. He will prove himself, or he will be replaced. Either way, Beshelar’s partner will be made suitable for his position.

And on that thought, he settles down to sleep at last.

~//~

It is a surprise to Beshelar, and no doubt to Cala as well, when Edrehasivar chooses his First Nohecharei to be his vigil-guides. It is a great honor, and yet… it should not have been necessary. The public does not need this reminder that their Emperor has yet no friends here or elsewhere, that he was not raised in the capital, that he knows less than does the lowest page of the rituals and rhythms of the Imperial court.

He says as much to Cala after the coronation ceremony is over, and the question earns him another curious, sad look.

”He cannot be expected to learn it all in a day.”

“Regardless. It is improper.”

“Better he be improper than alone.”

Beshelar thinks, but does not say, that if Cala truly believes that, perhaps he should not be nohecharis.

~//~

Shortly before they are to take the Emperor to his father’s funeral, the Adremaza, a short and anxious-looking man, approaches them and pulls Cala aside to speak with him in private. Cala returns several minutes later, looking agitated and unhappy.

“What had he to say?” Beshelar asks.

Cala answers without looking at him. “That it does not serve us well to be seen to be too familiar with the Emperor.”

“He is correct.” His response is not entirely without sympathy, for it is no easy thing to receive a reprimand from a respected superior. But it is for the best that Cala’s errant behaviors are corrected. Already, people are beginning to whisper of the impropriety of Edrehasivar VII. They should not speak so of their Emperor, but neither should the Emperor or those who serve him act in ways that encourage such gossip.

Cala says, as if to himself, “He is so young, and there is so much that troubles him… Is it such a crime that I-  that we wish to be of any support we can?”

Beshelar would be a liar to say that he has not felt the same impulse. Nevertheless, that does not make it appropriate.

”He should not rely so visibly on us. It is not our place.”

“Then whose place is it?” Cala mutters.

Beshelar does not have an answer.

~//~

Weeks pass, and Cala does little to improve his manner or his dress, despite Beshelar’s urging.

Though, to Cala’s credit he has at least ceased to offer helpful words to the Emperor, and the Emperor no longer seems to expect them. It is for the better, Beshelar tells himself, and pushes aside the lingering feeling that something about this is wrong.

But there is still much about Cala that needs improving. Beshelar must keep reminding him of it, lest he become a disgrace to the Emperor. Cala meets his corrections with wry comments, and does nothing to change his behavior.

While they do not associate closely with the second shift, having no time in which to do so, what Beshelar does see of Dazhis Athmaza is exemplary. He is quite clearly the sort of man who knows his place, who knows what his role is and what it is not, who will serve loyally and without question. Who will never trouble the Emperor through improper behavior.

If only his partner would be as upstanding.

~//~

Nurevis Chavar is growing presumptuous. Does he truly expect the Emperor to put aside Court business for his social gatherings? Of course, the Emperor has the right to act however he pleases, but Beshelar doubts that Edrehasivar intends to present such an image.

He suggests, quite reasonably, that His Serenity should perhaps not show as much public favor towards Nurevis as he has in the past several weeks.

It is the wrong thing to say. Edrehasivar turns on him, offended.

“We realize, Lieutenant, that we do not measure up to your idea of an emperor, but do us the justice to believe we are not entirely stupid!”

That is not at all what he meant, but the Emperor will not listen.  

Once they have delivered him into the hands of his edocharei, Beshelar turns to Cala before he knows what he is asking, or why he would expect Cala to have an answer.

“We only meant to alert him to the possible consequences,” Beshelar says.

Cala looks almost sad, though Beshelar cannot fathom why.

“You might have made the suggestion to Mer Aisava instead, for him to relay to His Serenity. It is a matter of the Court, not of defense.”

Cala is right. He has overstepped. He is fortunate the Emperor responded with nothing more than wholly justified temper-- Varenechibel never would have countenanced his nohecharei criticizing his actions.

Dazhis and Telimezh arrive before the Emperor is finished, and Beshelar is left with that thought as he and Cala walk back to their quarters.

They are silent until Cala says, “Some time ago we told him…” He hesitates, as if he thinks he has done wrong. “We told him that he should not continue to treat his nohecharei as friends.”

“As you should have.” Beshelar frowns in confusion. It was entirely appropriate of Cala to remind the Emperor of that fact. They are not his friends, and can never be. They are only servants. Cala should not regret that.

“Perhaps. But we feel that he has been upset with us ever since, and we truly do not see how that is any better.”

“It is as it should be. Remember that, maza.”

~//~

It has not yet been two months when a horror-stricken young guardsman comes to their door in the dead of night with the news that the Emperor has been stolen from his bed, that they know not how it happened, or where Edrehasivar is now, but Telimezh has been knocked unconscious... and Dazhis Athmaza is missing.

Years of training keep Beshelar calm and clear-minded, carry him through the motions of dressing in moments, tying up his hair, hurrying with Cala to where the Guard has set up their command.

In the Emperor’s bedroom, Cala kneels beside Telimezh; the doctor has not yet arrived.

“Magic,” he confirms, and then, disbelieving, “He would not. He would _not…._ ”  

Beshelar has not time to consider what that strange note in Cala’s voice might be. There is no reason to ask what he means, what this signifies: that Dazhis turned on his partner and then fled.

“Perhaps someone made him…” a guardsman begins, and abates, for there are few who can force a dachenmaza into anything against his will. Dazhis Athmaza is a traitor and a coward.

Beshelar pushes aside sick horror and a nearly overwhelming rage-- they will not help find the Emperor.

Captain Orthema is prepared to send his men to search every corner of every building, but the Court is a city unto itself and they all know a blind search will take far too long. And then Mer Aisava reminds them of the particular circumstances of Edrehasivar’s ascension, and of the many voices backing Prince Idra.

“If we were to suspect any of the Drazhada of disloyalty,” he says, and for once, Beshelar considers the merit of listening to rumors, “it would certainly be Sheveän.”

And it is under the Princess Sheveän’s apartments that they find their Emperor.


	3. Chapter 3

The Emperor is safe and unharmed and issuing commands, having once again traded his uncertainty for that well-known Drazhada stubbornness, and Beshelar has never been so relieved to hear him.

A guardsman appears to report that they found Dazhis pacing in the Lord Chancellor’s office, and that he has given himself up to the Adremaza’s justice. He is the problem of the mazei now, to handle as they will. There is no need to say what his fate will be. Everybody knows how a disloyal nohecharis dies.

The Lord Chancellor and the Princess Sheveän have been taken into custody. Doubtless there are many others who can be counted among the conspirators, but they are the Guard’s responsibility now. His duty is to the Emperor.

Beshelar is deeply grateful to Csevet, to Nemer, to all who helped end this terrible ordeal. He does not want to think on what might have happened if they had not found the Emperor when they did. Already he knows that this night is likely to haunt his dreams for some time.

The political repercussions will no doubt be severe and trouble the Emperor for months if not longer, but that is not Beshelar’s current concern.

They have all been betrayed. Not just by the Princess and the politician, but by one whose duty was to defend the Emperor. It makes Beshelar breathless with fury to know that Dazhis was a part of it, that Dazhis _chose_ to be a part of it, that this _traitor_ in whom he had placed his trust had nearly destroyed the reign they had both sworn an oath to protect.

It should be enough that Dazhis’s life is forfeit, that his soul is damned. It should be enough, and yet it is not. Dazhis will die for this, a terrible death, in disgrace and dishonor, and still it is too good for him.

Still the Emperor speaks of clemency - how can he?

And then there is Cala.

Does Cala think nobody can _see_? He looks like a man bereft. What was Dazhis to him, that he should mourn the death of a traitor? Beshelar has not earned the right to ask. They are not friends, as he has reminded Cala before.

Cala’s pain becomes increasingly clear as the day wears on, though he holds his composure admirably, and Beshelar finds his concern divided between his Emperor and his partner.

Though he cannot understand Cala’s grief, he wishes to ease it. But he knows that any sympathetic word he could offer would be unwelcome, would be seen only as an insult. In praising a man who became a traitor, a man he didn’t even know, Beshelar has scorned and alienated the one who is supposed to stand at his side. The realization brings with it something that might be shame.

He considers how he has treated someone who is supposed to be a partner in duty and who surely has his own reasons for acting as he does. Who has been perhaps a greater comfort, a greater guardian of the Emperor’s peace of mind than he himself has been. it is perhaps no surprise that in the earliest days of their acquaintance, the Emperor seemed far more drawn to Cala than to him.  

Cala is not a soldier; Beshelar should not expect him to act as one. It is with a bitter sort of humor that he thinks of the folly in insulting a dachenmaza, who could certainly torment him in any number of invisible ways if he so wished, and who Beshelar is equally certain never would.

When the Emperor is at last persuaded to sleep, the night is long and dark but blessedly quiet.

Morning comes, and the Adremaza arrives to introduce Kiru Athmaza.

A woman! The very thought is scandalous. But better a woman than a traitor, or a man unwilling to serve. Edrehasivar finds her acceptable, as does Telimezh; it is not for Beshelar to protest further. Certainly, he and Cala are in no state to stand guard for much longer.

They leave in silence, and prepare for sleep in silence, and Beshelar watches Cala shivering in his bed and does not know what it is he wishes to give.

~//~

Hesero Nelaran and her husband leave the Tortoise Room, never to trouble the Emperor again. The audience may be over, but Beshelar is left profoundly unsettled at what he has learned of His Serenity’s past.

If he could, if he had the barest chance and it would not cause a scandal and upset the Emperor besides, he would kill Setheris Nelar in a heartbeat. At the very least see him beaten and imprisoned for his crimes. Nobody, _nobody_ should treat a child like that. _Any_ child, whether the son of the ruling house or of the poorest beggar on the streets. He believes that as vehemently as he believes in rule of law or in the order of the universe. It is _deplorable_ that His Serenity suffered so. Deplorable that Varenechibel allowed it.

And it cuts into his very soul to know that this man who is the reason for the flickers of fear that show in his Emperor’s eyes at loud noises or expressions of anger will be permitted to live on unpunished.

He may not be able to give Setheris Nelar his deserving, but he can make certain that neither he nor anyone else will ever be able to harm the Emperor again. He vows that there shall never again be a moment when His Serenity does not know himself _safe_ and _loved_ and _valued_.

He will not allow it.

~//~

The Winternight Ball has been abandoned, the royal guards of two nations are running about in a chaotic frenzy, and Dach’osmer Tethimar is dead. Dead, by Cala's spell.

The revethmaz… Beshelar had known of such a thing, of course, but truthfully he had not thought Cala capable. He is grateful for it now, though it is a better death than Tethimar deserved.

Cala had rushed to his side as soon as the deed was done, almost before Beshelar himself had registered anything beyond the fact that Edrehasivar had not been struck. The concern is unnecessary. Cala should be minding the Emperor, not fretting over his partner. Besides, this is not serious. Beshelar has received worse wounds on guard duty in scuffles with criminals. Tethimar’s was a fine blade, designed for a clean cut, not a ragged knife meant to tear and damage like those the scoundrels of Cetho often carry.

What matters now is making sure there are not more attackers waiting to target the Emperor. His own wounds can wait. More important now is calming Edrehasivar, who has gone into a panic upon realizing Tethimar’s intention.

He is grateful when Kiru arrives, as she is far more adept at handling the intricacies of emotional distress. He is less pleased, however, when Kiru insists that he and Cala rest. Though it is, he will admit, a foolish thing to disobey a healer, he is reluctant to leave the Emperor’s side.

But Edrehasivar sees through his protests and Cala’s, and it is probably for the best. He will be safe with Kiru and Telimezh, if anything else happens tonight. More safe then he would be with Cala and Beshelar, shaken as they are.

The Emperor sends them to their beds, and at last Beshelar can spare attention for Cala, who is pale and shaking and certainly not in any condition to stand guard. He knows nothing of the strain of spellcasting, but taking a life is difficult enough for a trained soldier, and for a gentle scholar more used to books than weapons it must be a truly terrible thing indeed.

“That was well done, Cala,” Beshelar says at last, for lack of anything better to say.

“As well as such can ever be,” Cala says, looking away at nothing, and shudders violently.

Beshelar moves without thinking to support him, but Cala waves him away. He amends the gesture to a brief clasp on the shoulder, a purely comradely touch between brothers in arms.

~//~

They are returning from the Chapel of All Gods when the Emperor abruptly turns to confront them.

“The Adremaza was wrong,” he declares, quite firmly, though Beshelar does not at first know what he is referring to. “When he said you could not be our friend.”

The idea goes against all convention, all precedent, everything Beshelar has been told or taught. But as the Emperor continues, Beshelar cannot help but feel his statements are wholly reasonable.

But he looks to Edrehasivar, and he looks to Cala, and if he is to be honest, he would have to say there is already something between them, something that goes beyond duty.

~//~

Something is different after that day.

The Emperor is far from the uncertain boy to whom Beshelar first pledged his loyalty. He meets petitioners and courtiers and the Corazhas determined to exercise his will when he sees the way forward, and determined to listen when he does not. But then, he has always possessed that ability, that determination to do right. It was that uncertain boy, after all, who outwitted once-Lord Chavar to secure his power in the face of an unfriendly Court.

“His Serenity handled them deftly,” Cala says after they take their leave from one such Corazhas meeting, having ceded their positions to the second shift. “It is long past due that someone reminded Pashavar that he is not, in fact, Lord Chancellor.” 

“He has long coveted Chavar’s place. He was most displeased when His Serenity overlooked him in favor of Lord Berenar.” 

“A friend of ours is rather fond of the song some of the secretaries used to sing about Pashavar.” Cala’s smile holds more than a trace of mischief. “About his wishes to insert his nose… and other parts… into all the business of the Court.”

Beshelar knows he is blushing even before he sees the faint amusement on Cala’s face. Months ago he would not have recognized the expression, and might have thought it mockery. Now he knows it is nothing of the sort, though there is certainly an element of teasing to it.

“One hopes he has time for his own business, if he is indeed so busy with other peoples’.” He does not say that it is not Cala’s place to comment on the proceedings, nor does he say that it is beneath a nohecharis’s dignity to pay heed to bawdy songs. While Cala may not hold to the same standard of professionalism, he knows his duty well. And truly, Beshelar is proud to serve beside him.

Cala’s surprised laugh sparks something unfamiliar and warm in him. Without his notice Beshelar has begun to feel a strange thrill in hearing his comments deflected, in testing Cala’s unflagging wit. The feeling has become more frequent as of late. They are becoming accustomed to each other’s habits, and the tension that once existed between them is changing into something else. What exactly that is, though, Beshelar does not know. Or maybe it is that he does not hope.

Cala offers another clever response, another teasing smile. But Beshelar does not let himself believe that this is anything more than Cala’s customary kindness. At one point, he might have found Cala’s affection freely given. Now, after months of treating his partner coldly, he will have to earn it.

**Author's Note:**

> Join the tiny fandom discussion and RP at http://www.slashnet.org/webclient/thegoblinemperor


End file.
